


Dust Yourself Off and Start All Over Again

by CamsthiSky



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Gwen Stacy is Dead, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Peter Lives in the Avenger's Tower, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Set immediately after the second movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 07:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12361074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamsthiSky/pseuds/CamsthiSky
Summary: Peter Parker's first day back as Spider-Man doesn't go as well as he'd hoped.





	Dust Yourself Off and Start All Over Again

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh, I've never written a Marvel story in my life, but I've had this lying around for weeks, along with the beginning of a plot, so I thought I might as well give it a shot. Expect sporadic updates.

Peter stares at his bare arm. It’s mottled black and blue and he can barely move it. It’s almost completely numb, and peeling off the Spider-Man suit and shrugging into his sweater and jacket have never felt more like a challenge.

He manages it. Somehow. He pulls on his beanie, shoves his glasses onto his face, and pushes the suit into his backpack. He hurts, and it’s going to be hell, but he needs to get back to the Tower. Needs to get back home. Never before had he wanted to get to a doctor so quickly.

He would swing there, but between his very numb arm and his tight chest full of bruised (and maybe fractured) ribs, Peter’s not going to make it there by webs. Hence the reason for taking off his suit and dressing like a regular teenager.

After a peek out of the alley he’s in, making sure there’s no one there to see him walk out, Peter takes off for the tower at a brisk walk. His arm is cradled against his stomach, and he tries not to move it. The pedestrian traffic doesn’t really help, though, and he ends up getting jostled more than a few times.

Finally, _finally_ , the tower’s in sight. He stumbles through the doors, into the lobby, flashes his intern badge at the front desk—albeit, shakily—and hops into the elevator.

 _“Mister Parker, your heart rate exceeds satisfactory medical parameters, and your temperature is much lower than normal,”_ JARVIS says as soon as the door closes, and if Peter weren’t in so much pain, he’d be awed by how downright _worried_ Tony’s AI sounds. The spectrum of human emotion JARVIS can convey is honestly amazing, and Peter _would_ tell Tony that, but Clint has already expressed that it isn’t a good idea to inflate Tony’s ego more than he already does.

Of course, Peter’s not so good at that. He finds what Tony does _fascinating_ , and it’s hard not to compliment the genius when he’s such a freaking motor mouth. No brain to mouth filter. It’s gotten Peter into more trouble than he can remember.

Putting that aside, Peter tells the AI, “I’m fine, JARVIS. Just, uh, take me to Bruce’s lab.”

He’s not fine. He’s _so_ not fine. His chest hurts, he can’t move his arm, and he’s sweating and shaking. Shock, probably. Can a broken bone lead to shock? He doesn’t know, but he’s been injured enough times to know the symptoms. He needs medical attention.

But he also doesn’t want to cause a panic. If he stumbles out onto the medical floor, where all the other scientists go when they need assistance, someone is going to question why Tony Stark’s intern stumbled all the way back to Avenger’s Tower to have injuries checked out when they obviously weren’t caused by an incident in the lab.

He probably looks more like he’s just been in a car accident than a lab accident. He can _feel_ the bruises on his face and his back, and along with a few cuts here and there, he’s sore like he just went to toe to toe with Captain America.

(Which, he didn’t. But the Rhino isn’t too far from it.)

So yeah. Can’t go to Medical. Can’t start a panic. Best option is to find Bruce. And since it’s a Tuesday morning, the doctor is probably in his lab, working. He feels guilty for interrupting, but he also feels like crap, so, Bruce it is.

 _“Of course,”_ the AI says, and wait. Was that sarcasm? The elevator starts going up.

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. Peter pushes away from the wall—how hadn’t he noticed that he’d been leaning on it?—and heads for Bruce’s lab. The whole floor is full of labs, but Bruce’s is the best and the biggest, and also the furthest back. Yay. More walking.

No one really gives Peter a second look as he rushes past the glass walls. Actually, most don’t even give him a _first_ look, too absorbed in their work to notice a teenager with suspicious bruises on his face and shoulders hunched up protectively—well. One shoulder. The other’s connected to his left arm and it’s hard to move _that_ , too.

Peter makes it to Bruce’s lab, and he’s about to knock lightly on the glass door, get the good doctor’s attention, but he stops, not really sure about the scene in front of him.

There’s someone else in the lab. Someone Peter’s sure he’s never seen before, despite the countless hours he’s watched Bruce work. The other guy is wearing a lab coat, head leaning in to stare at something under the microscope. His mouth is moving and Bruce is next to him, typing up something on the StarkPad. Probably whatever the guy is describing.

The mystery man moves out of the way, and Bruce takes a turn looking through the microscope. They look busy, and Peter feels kind of guilty for coming here. Maybe he should just go get Clint. Clint is good at first aid. So is Sam. It doesn’t necessarily have to be _Bruce_ that patches him up.

Someone knocks into him from behind, and Peter bites back a pained yelp, turning to face whoever it was that bumped into him. It’s a scientist, holding a folder she’d been reading, not paying attention, and therefore bumping into the awkward teenage intern dawdling outside of Dr. Banner’s lab.

She blinks at him, seeming to actually take him in, which includes his pale, sweaty, injured face. “Sorry about that,” she says, but she sounds suspicious. “I didn’t mean to walk into you. Do you have access to this floor?”

Peter swallows his nerves. “I’m, uh, I need to talk to Dr. Banner.”

The scientist looks unimpressed. She probably wouldn’t hesitate to drag him back down to the lobby and call security. “That didn’t answer my question.”

“Yes,” Peter says, his injured arm pulling closer. “Yes, I have access to this floor.”

Her eyes flick towards the movement, but she doesn’t comment. She just holds out her hand. “Your badge,” she demands.

Peter hands it over for her to inspect, taking a step back, his shoulders pressing against the cool glass. He doesn’t like how demanding this lady is, how nosy she is. If she escorts him out, he’s not going to have any choice but to follow her, because _technically_ , this lab is restricted access, and Peter’s only an intern. Peter’s not really supposed to be here, even though Tony’s given him access to practically the whole tower.

The scientist inspects the badge, frowning up at him. “How did you get up here?”

“I…took the elevator?” Peter tries. “Look, I really just need to talk to Dr. Banner. He knows who I am, and he’ll tell you—”

“You are an intern for the tech department,” she says. “I don’t know how you got into the physics lab, but I’m calling security.”

“No, wait!” Peter yells, pushing back into the glass. He drums his fingers against the door. Maybe it will get Bruce’s attention. Maybe it will get Peter out of this mess. He needs Bruce to get him out of this, because his motor mouth’s gone quiet, and he’s too injured, both inside and out, to do more than call for help. “Really! Please, I just need to talk to Dr. Banner about something real quick and then I’ll be out of here.”

The scientist opens her mouth, only to shut it a second later, her gaze moving from Peter to something behind him. The door opens and Peter spins around to face a very confused Bruce Banner.

“Peter?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh,” Peter says eloquently, eyes flicking between Bruce and the scientist, not really ready to divulge his need for medical attention right in front of her. “I need to talk to you?”

“Sorry for the interruption, Dr. Banner,” the scientist says, “but I’m afraid Mr. Parker was trying to get into your lab. Honestly, I don’t know how he even got _access_ to this floor. Would you like me to call security?”

Bruce waves her off. “It’s fine, Sarah. I’m the one who gave him access.”

“I see.” The scientist—Sarah—doesn’t look to happy about that, but she doesn’t question it.

Bruce turns to Peter, his eyebrows raised. “Is this important?”

Peter tries not to cringe. Clint. He should have gone to Clint. He’s barely on his feet, he feels like he was run over by a truck—not that far from the truth—and he’s way too exhausted to be standing here trying to convince his friend that he needs to talk to him. _Alone._

Trying not to start a panic, here.

“Sort of,” Peter answers, fidgeting, wincing when he accidentally pulls something the wrong way in his chest. Bruce doesn’t seem to notice, too busy cleaning his glasses on his shirt. Sarah’s still standing there, too. Best to be discreet. “I, uh, have something I need you to look at.”

It’s his arm. And his chest. To make sure the Rhino didn’t completely break him.

Bruce sighs. “Peter, I’m in the middle of a time sensitive experiment,” he explains, gesturing back to the lab. “Dr. Nori and I will be finished soon. Can you wait until then?”

Peter deflates. Right. It’s the middle of the work day. Of course Bruce would be busy. He probably shouldn’t have even tried Bruce when he knew that Bruce was working on important stuff. He doesn’t know why he thought that Bruce would just drop everything to look at his stupid arm.

So Peter forces a smile. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just go find, um, Sam! I’ll go find Sam and have him look at it. Or Clint. And, uh, I’ll just talk to you later?”

He’s gesturing wildly with one arm and backing up towards the elevator, Sarah’s and Bruce’s eyes on him, following his movements. He can even feel Dr. Nori’s stare through the glass walls. Good to know that he attracted the attention of Bruce’s lab partner. Great.

He’s almost halfway down the hall, almost halfway to the elevator, when Bruce frowns and his eyes shoot to Peter’s left arm, the one not moving. Then his gaze flicks to Peter’s face, probably finally taking in the bruises partially hidden behind Peter’s glasses.

Peter turns around and ignores the _“Peter, wait!”_ coming from Bruce behind him, drawing way too much attention for someone who is just an intern. He makes it to the elevator, the doors closing before Bruce can catch up to him.

“Where’s Clint,” Peter demands, trying not to let his hands shake. The pain is becoming almost too much for him to handle, which is saying something because Peter has a faster healing ability than even Steve, and probably an even higher pain tolerance. But the numbness in his arm is turning into burning, and Peter’s going to start crying like a baby if he doesn’t get some pain killers in his system soon.

 _“Agent Barton is currently in the Avenger’s infirmary attending to the injuries he received from a training session,”_ JARVIS replies, seemingly not minding Peter’s short tone. The AI probably puts up with worse from Tony. _“Would you like me to take you to him?”_

“Yes,” Peter says, and the elevator moves. Peter’s trembling by the time the doors open again, and he feels light-headed. He stumbles into the infirmary, his breathing heavy, and he’s about soaked in sweat, even though he’s freezing his butt off. He spots Clint almost immediately.

Clint spots him, too. He stops wrapping his arm, staring at Peter, and Peter can’t do much more than gasp for breath and shake just inside the doorway.

 _“Jesus,_ kid,” Clint says, abandoning his arm to rush to his side. His hands hover over Peter, not sure what’s wrong, where it’s safe to touch. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”

“Arm,” Peter says as Clint leads him to a bed and helps him sit. “And ribs. Other than that, just bruises.”

“Bleeding?” Clint asks. He helps Peter pull his jacket off his right arm and carefully extract it from his left, trying not to move it. It doesn’t work. Peter gasps in pain as the jacket slides from his wrist. Not numb anymore. Definitely not numb anymore. “Peter,” Clint says, his tone sharp. “I need you to tell me if you’re bleeding.”

“No,” Peter breathes out, his face scrunched up against the pain. “Not bleeding. I think he broke my arm, though. And some of my ribs.”

“I’m cutting off your shirt,” Clint says, grabbing some scissors from one of the cabinets. Peter tries not to mourn the loss of one of his favorite sweaters (it’s actually Bruce’s, but he stole it when he first came to the tower, when he was still living in Bruce’s guest bedroom). Clint’s clinical about it, cutting the shirt off and giving him access to Peter’s wounds. His breath seems to catch in his throat, and Clint says again, _“Jesus.”_

Peter looks down, even though he’s already seen the damage. He’d taken off the suit and changed into street clothes. He knows how bad it is. Or, at least, he _thought_ he knew. The bruises have gotten worse, and half his chest is purple as his lungs stutter for breath. His arm looks like someone’s taken a hammer to it and went to town. It looks _crushed_.

He’s going to throw up if he keeps looking at it, so he looks away and tries to slow his breathing.

Clint catches his gaze, eyes wide. “JARVIS,” Clint says, and Peter knows what’s going to happen next. “Can you contact Bruce and get him up here? Tell him it’s an emergency.”

“No!” Peter yells at the same time JARVIS says, _“Certainly, Agent Barton.”_

Clint stares at him. He looks sad. “Pete, I can’t fix this.”

“Th-Then Nat—”

“I really hope you’re fucking kidding,” Clint says, a glint in his eye, “because there’s no way in hell that first aid training can fix that arm. You need a doctor, and Bruce is the closest thing we’ve got short of going to hospital.”

“No hospital,” Peter gasps, grabbing onto Clint’s arm with his good arm. His left arm’s burning now, all the way past his wrist to his fingertips. It’s on fire, and the rest of him is cold, and can’t take much more of this. “Just—oh, god. Ohmygod.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

Peter shakes his head, tears pricking at his eyes. He squeezes Clint’s arm, letting go when the other man winces at his grip. He immediately feels guilty. He forgets sometimes, that he’s stronger than everybody else. He forgets that he can hurt people, his friends, without even trying.

Clint grabs his fingers with his own and squeezes. “Work with me, Peter. What’s wrong?”

“My arm,” Peter says gesturing vaguely at his left arm, Clint’s hand coming along for the ride, seeing as he hasn’t let go of Peter’s fingers yet. “I—I need pain killers, or _something._ God, this was easier to ignore when I couldn’t feel it.”

“When did you start feeling it again?” Bruce asks as he sweeps into the infirmary, lab coat fluttering behind him. He’s clinical, taking in Peter’s injuries with a practiced eye. He was probably already on the way up here before JARVIS even called to him.

“The elevator.”

“Before or after you ran away?”

“After.”

Bruce sighs. “Clint, get the morphine.” Clint reluctantly lets go of Peter’s fingers and makes for the cabinets, only after shooting Peter a suspicious look. Bruce turns his attention back to Peter, fiddling around with Peter’s good arm. He wipes it down with alcohol. “I’m going to give you a few shots, okay?”

He waits for Peter to nod, then turns around to get a sterilized needle. Peter hates needles, he hates hospitals, and he hates getting hurt enough that he has to sit here and endure both (well, infirmary is a little different than hospital, but it certainly feels somewhat the same). It all stems from the fact that he used to be _in_ one so often as a child and the fact that, now, his blood and healing factor could turn him into a lab experiment if he isn’t careful.

“Here,” Clint says, handing over a bottle of morphine. Bruce takes it, and Peter keeps his eyes on Bruce’s face as the man takes Peter’s free arm and shoots him up with the good stuff. Peter doesn’t yelp at the jolt to his system, his body fighting against the effects of the pain killers with his insanely fast metabolism, but he does jump a little bit. Bruce gives him a second dose, already practiced enough to know how much Peter needs to fend off the pain.

Except, his arm is still burning, even with the pain in his ribs muted.

Bruce and Clint share a look before pushing Peter back to lie in the bed. “I need to take some X-rays,” Bruce says. “How’s your pain level?”

“Not good,” Peter murmurs.

“One to ten.”

Peter grits his teeth. “Seven. Maybe pushing an eight.”

He can’t see Bruce’s or Clint’s faces from here, but he can hear the silence after that statement, and Peter wonders if it was somehow wrong to tell the truth. It takes almost a minute for Clint and Bruce to start moving again, and when Bruce comes back, it’s with an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Bruce says, as though anything is his fault and not Peter’s for going out and getting himself hurt in the first place. Clint takes off his glasses and his beanie, putting them to the side and Bruce squeezes his shoulder in some kind of attempt to comfort him. “I can’t give you anything else for the pain. Not safely. And I don’t want to wait any longer to get those X-rays. Especially if I need to set something in your arm before your healing factor completely kicks in.”

Peter licks his lips. “Okay.”

Bruce nods. “Clint, I’m going to need your help moving his arm. Be careful with it, and don’t jerk anything.”

Peter squeezes his eyes shut. He just wants this to be over with. Why did his first day back as Spider-Man have to go so wrong?

* * *

Eventually, the pain of Clint and Bruce positioning his arms for the X-rays gets to be too much, and Peter passes out. When he comes to, his arm is casted and immobilized in a sling, and Peter’s propped up on a bunch of pillows to ease his breathing. He feels groggy and pretty much _not_ ready to be awake at the moment.

There are low voices from across the room, and Peter peels his eyes open to look at the pair looking over what have to be Peter’s X-rays. Bruce is frowning and Clint looks almost sickened.

Peter lets them talk for a moment, his eyes fluttering closed, and when he opens them again, Clint is sitting at the foot of his bed and Bruce is fiddling with his sling. Bruce smiles down at him when he sees Peter awake, but it looks forced.

“Welcome to the land of the living,” Bruce says, and Clint looks up from his phone to meet Peter’s eyes. Bruce catches his attention again. “Are you ready to tell me what happened?”

Peter hums, feeling a little floaty. “Rhino. Some new guy. Didn’ you guys watch th’news?”

Clint’s eyebrows furrow and he drops his phone on the bed to lean forward. “You went out?” he asks. “As Spider-Man?”

Peter hums another affirmative. He probably wouldn’t have, honestly, if he hadn’t seen that little boy standing there, facing down a gun-slinging mechanical rhino, trying his best to imitate his hero. Imitate Spider-Man, who hasn’t been on the street fighting crime in months. Not since Electro. Not since the Goblin. Not since Gwen.

It’s been a rough few months for Peter. The other Avengers had been more than ready to help pick up his slack on the streets, but without Spider-Man, Peter hasn’t really been the same. Without Gwen, he hasn’t been the same.

Still, even with all of the support the Avengers are providing him, Peter hasn’t been able to put the suit on. Not before he saw that little boy stand up to the escaped prisoner.

“Peter,” Bruce says, and he looks tired. “Not that I’m complaining, I’m glad you feel like you’re able to be Spider-Man again, but you should have told someone.”

Peter blinks. “There wasn’t any time. I was walking back from class when I saw that boy, and I couldn’t _not_ save him.”

Clint picks his phone up, tension bleeding out of his shoulder. Peter notices that his arm is freshly bandaged. “I’m checking the news.”

Bruce nods and looks back to Peter. There’s still a tenseness to his form and Peter waits, waits for the dreaded subject to be brought up. Because Bruce looks disappointed in him, and that’s almost as bad as _Captain America_ being disappointed in him. Peter doesn’t handle disappointment well, especially when it comes to the people he looks up to.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Bruce asks softly, like Clint isn’t sitting right there listening to every word. “Before. Why didn’t you say you were hurt?”

“I meant to,” Peter says honestly. Frustration has him curling his good hand in the sheets. “Really, I did. But you said you were busy dealing with something time sensitive, and that lady was right there, and—”

Peter cuts himself off. Bruce still looks disappointed, but it isn’t really directed at Peter anymore. It looks more like it’s directed at _himself_ , which is stupid because Bruce is one of the most awesome people Peter has ever met, and it isn’t _Bruce’s_ fault that Peter came in during something important.

“You should have told me,” Bruce says.

“You were busy.” It sounds pathetic coming out of his mouth, and Bruce doesn’t look even the least bit deterred.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “You should have told me.”

Peter closes his eyes and tries to swallow past the growing lump in his throat. “Okay,” he whispers. “Okay.”

And only then does Bruce relent. Peter feels like he’s been through the ringer just from that conversation alone. He needs some time to himself. To not think about how he’s let down both Bruce and Clint by being a big screw up on his first day back.


End file.
